


The Rain in Spain

by LJs Stalker (Brink182)



Series: Rain in Spain [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen, Hurt!Danny, I'm bad at keeping secrets, Racist Language, non-explicit non con mention, nothing to do with Spain, obligatory breakdown in the shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:18:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brink182/pseuds/LJs%20Stalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was reminded of a rhyme from elementary school:<br/>The rain in Spain falls neatly on the plain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rain in Spain

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I don't want to be involved in a Cassandra Claire type situation, so I think I should probably say even belatedly, that obviously I don't own the rhyme that makes up this story's title and if anyone indeed has a copyright on it, it would most likely be Gabriel Pascal, or whoever currently holds his copyrights.

** The Rain in Spain  **

** By: Little Joe’s Stalker **

**Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything from _Hawaii Five-0_. Only this plotline from my twisted imagination.

 

The water was the hottest it could go. Scalding, searing his skin. Just the way he wanted it. He was in a frenzy. Couldn’t think about anything else but getting clean. He wasn’t thinking like a cop; he was thinking like a victim. That’s what he was. Another nameless, faceless victim, among countless others. He wasn’t thinking about that, either. About how many others had been before him. He can’t care about that right now. The only thing he cares about is making himself clean. It’s an obsession. He needs to feel clean, not to feel dirtier than a truck stop bathroom, but he’s not sure it’ll ever happen. He does his best, scrubbing all over with the scrub brush. Arms, legs, chest, stomach. Anywhere he can reach. Over and over again, ‘til he’s scrubbed himself red and raw and he still does not stop-not even after he’s broken skin and started to bleed, because he can still _feel_ them on him like ghosts. He looks up at the showerhead and watches the water cascade down all around him like rain. It had been raining outside, too.

The rain and the dark and hands-all over, ripping at his clothes, groping, caressing-mouths descending-devouring him. Voices mocking and jeering. _Pretty,_ mostly. _Pretty haole._ He just couldn’t get away from that ‘h’ word. He didn’t even notice he had started crying. He just knew that the rain had become strangely salty. The scrub brush slipped out of his hand, as he crumpled to the bottom of the shower like a flower caught in a downpour. Growing insensible, he was reminded of a rhyme from elementary school.

_The rain in Spain falls neatly on the plain._

He’s not sure what that had to do with anything, but he repeated it like a mantra in his head, as his sobs turned into hysterics.

There was a pounding on the door, barely audible over the Niagara-like spray of the shower.

“-n you hear me? Did you drown in there?”

He doesn’t register any of it: the now icy spray of water, the coolness of the shower floor, the door opening, the shower curtain being pulled back, the tap being turned off, or the warm hand on his chilled shoulder. He’s beyond all that now. Barricaded in an impenetrable fortress located deep within his mind. Nothing can touch him now. He’s safe.  

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, sorry this was so short, guys! I hope it was a good read, anyway.


End file.
